


Staying

by stilinstuck (superagentwolf)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a Good Friend, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, POV Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/stilinstuck
Summary: Stiles shows up at Derek's apartment door one day asking to stay. Derek surprises them both by accepting. He does his best to make Stiles feel safe and he doesn't ask. Eventually, though, Stiles tells him.





	

Derek breathes in, breathes out.

Tries to stop his pounding heart because he knows it won’t do him any good. His heart is his problem, he thinks.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

They’re the first words that leave his mouth.

Stiles flinches back a bit, swaying on the balls of his feet, hurt there and gone like lightning against an expression of determination. Desperation.

“I’m not going to stay forever,” Stiles manages, glancing to his side as if expecting to see someone come up.

Derek looks to the side, too, half expecting Scott to walk up with a grimace and apology. When he doesn’t, Derek starts to wonder.

“Why are you here?”

“There was a…kind of fallout back home,” Stiles begins, dodging the question as best as he can.

“So you’re running from your problems,” Derek says shortly.

 _You know him,_ a tiny voice inside says. _You know he wouldn’t just run._

He doesn’t have time to take it back, make it better, because suddenly Stiles spins on his heel with the fury of a tornado.

“Forget it,” Stiles says shortly, the words snapping like old tree branches.

“Wait,” the word flies from Derek’s mouth and he’s suddenly holding Stiles’ wrist.

He doesn’t miss the tiny twitch, the violent shake of the body attached to the wrist. There’s sand in Derek’s mouth and he lets Stiles go, swallowing.

“Come in.”

Stiles blinks, eyes a little wider than usual, and Derek notices Stiles’ eyes are a little glassy. Red.

 _He’s trying not to cry,_ he realizes with a start.

“I won’t stay long,” Stiles echoes, rubbing his arms. It’s freezing outside and the only thing he’s wearing is a red hoodie.

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek sighs, going to the closet for a blanket. “I’m not usually home.”

Stiles watches him but Derek gets the sense he’s somewhere else. On auto-pilot. He looks like he’s drowning in his own mind. Derek throws the blanket at him from across the room and it hits Stiles. The teenager visibly tenses, straight as a board, a small, choked noise escaping his throat before he can stop it.

Derek freezes as he closes the door.

“….thanks,” Stiles manages.

Derek is only half listening. He’s _feeling_ instead, picking up on the unsteady heartbeat and dry swallowing. Something is _wrong_ with Stiles. Something is _very_ wrong.

“What happened?” Derek asks, dropping his voice a little lower, making it soft.

When he gets to Stiles, he unthinkingly reaches out, a hand on the bent arm holding the blanket.

And Stiles jerks again, almost like a natural reaction, except it isn’t and he visibly forces himself to still afterwards.

“I’d rather not,” Stiles manages, stiff and loaded with meaning.

Derek pauses, debating the harm of checking Stiles for bruises or any other signs of- what? A fight? He knows all too well that running with werewolves is physically dangerous. He still cringes when he remembers slamming Stiles’ head into a steering wheel. Slamming him into walls.

“Have you eaten?”

Stiles’ glassy eyes focus on him, blinking slowly.

“I’m not hungry.”

Derek nods. Gestures to the hallway.

“Bed is-,”

“No,” Stiles interrupts, fingers a bit tighter on the blanket. “I- just…”

“Couch is nice,” Derek notes as dispassionately as possible. He knows Stiles doesn’t need judgement right now.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispers as Derek turns away.

Derek pretends not to hear.

* * *

He wakes at night, snarl half-formed on his lips. It takes a fraction of a second to realize why.

Stiles is screaming.

Not just _screaming_ , though. Screaming as if he’s about to die, as if his heart is being tugged out of his chest and he’ll survive long enough to see it beating before his eyes.

Derek launches off his bed, claws already sharp, footsteps quick as he enters the living room.

There’s no one there.

His rage is muted for a minute and he inhales, noting that there’s no scent. No intruder. No broken-down door.

There’s just Stiles, arching off the couch, eyes wide with something Derek only knows as _terror_.

“Stiles,” Derek half-growls, teeth sliding back away as his wolf subsides. “Stiles, wake up.”

Part of him wonders what fucked him up so badly and another part tells him he doesn’t want to know.

Stiles breathes heavily, eyes focusing, sheen of night terror dropping to reveal an almost equal terror that is quickly hidden in the depths of his gold eyes. He drops a mask over his face and Derek is momentarily disturbed at the accuracy to which Stiles molds himself, pushing away some kind of emotions that probably need to be faced.

“What happened?” Derek asks. Even though he knows, Stiles needs to say it.

“Just a dream,” Stiles breathes, voice raw. “Nothing. Sorry I woke you up.”

Derek bites his tongue. He wants to say _It’s fine, don’t worry, you’re hurt, you need to heal, you need to talk,_ but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because it’s their first night and the situation is bizarre and after he’d left Beacon Hills he had fully expected to never go back.

It seems, funny enough, that Beacon Hills has come to him.

“It’s fine,” Derek says. “There’s tea in the kitchen.”

He walks away again, one ear tuned to Stiles even as he lies back in bed.

Two minutes later, Stiles starts to cry. Not the gut-wrenching sobs of a broken man, not the sniffles of a child, but the silent salt of the damaged.

* * *

In the morning Stiles is dead asleep. Derek is quiet, moving on silent feet as he leaves for work. He writes a note, quick and to the point, before locking the door behind him.

* * *

He’s working when he gets the call.

His phone buzzes and he blinks, pulling it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen.

_Stiles?_

“Take it,” Richard says, raising his eyebrows. He looks impressed. “I didn’t know you had friends to call you.”

Derek throws him the requisite dirty look but walks away quickly, swinging the door of the enclosure behind him. He steps under the shade of a tree and answers.

“Stiles?”

There’s uneven breathing on the other end of the line. Derek tenses, instinctively leaning forward as if he can move through the phone.

“What is it? Are you at home? Did something happen?”

More breathing, and he’s almost ready to sprint back.

 _“No,”_ Stiles manages, breathing heavily, _“I-,”_

It hits Derek like a ton of bricks. He blinks, cursing his stupidity, and leans back against the tree again.

“Stiles? Listen to my voice,” he tries, keeping his voice even and mellow. “Listen to me. I need you to breathe. In, and out. Breathe. In, and out.”

He doesn’t know shit about panic attacks but he knows Stiles has had them before, is certain they’re back with a vengeance after whatever happened in Beacon Hills.

Richard comes up to Derek, brow furrowed in concern. Derek waves him away, concentrating. On the other end of the line, Stiles sobs a little, dry and small, as his breathing starts to even out.

“Good. Good, Stiles. Just breathe. In and out.”

And he does.

 _“I’m sorry for calling,”_ Stiles says.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Derek says. Calmly, because he knows better now. He knows what he can sound like. “I told you it was fine.”

 _“Okay,”_ Stiles says quietly.

“I’ll be home at five,” Derek says.

He wants to say _Do you want to go somewhere? Do you need clothes?_ _Do you want to talk now?_

He doesn’t and instead listens to Stiles murmur an affirmative before the line dies. He flexes his hand around his phone, wondering.

There are times to speak and times to wait. He thinks he’s getting better at telling them apart.

* * *

A drawer in the kitchen is open.

There’s an apple on the counter, crisp and pinkish-red. The knife is on the floor by the counter.

He smells the blood before he sees it, watery red puddle on the cutting board next to the apple.

“Stiles?”

The faint rush of water echoes from the bathroom. Derek isn’t sure what he expects to see when he opens the door. What he gets is Stiles standing at the sink, fingers tilted sideways under the rushing water. He blinks, looking up at Derek with half-there eyes.

“Accident,” he explains and Derek believes him, watching the pink water swirl into the drain.

Derek moves past Stiles, reaching into the cupboard. He pulls out a Band-Aid, unwrapping it carefully.

“There’s an apple slicer in the drawer,” Derek notes.

Stiles blinks.

And then, he laughs.

It’s not quite whole, not really the same laugh he’s heard secondhand before, in the distance as Stiles walks away with Scott ( _best friends, always best friends_ ). It’s laughter, though, and it makes Derek’s lips twist happily, if only a little.

“How do you have an apple slicer?” Stiles chuckles, accepting the Band-Aid.

“Cora,” Derek says shortly.

Stiles snorts again, shaking his head.

“I bet she picked it up randomly in the houseware section. She probably didn’t know what it was for.”

“Nope.”

He doesn’t look so far away when he leaves the bathroom and Derek feels a little more at peace, knowing he’s brought Stiles back from whatever hell he’s in.

At least for now.

* * *

“I’ll go with you,” Stiles manages.

He looks a little like his tooth is being pulled and a little defiant, too.

“You don’t have to,” Derek says mildly.

“I should,” Stiles says. “I’m crashing here. The least I can do is buy dinner.”

That’s what he says. It isn’t what he means, Derek knows. He knows this is a test. He knows Stiles wants to know if he can make it through a trip to the grocery store. He wants to prove something, to himself or someone else. He wants to show that he’s still functioning. Still alive.

They’re about to leave when Derek glances at Stiles’ red hoodie.

“You’ll get cold,” he says shortly, ducking back into his room, ignoring the small word that escapes Stiles’ mouth.

When he comes back out he’s holding an old leather jacket. He can see Stiles stare at it for a moment so he pauses, suddenly unsure.

“I can switch-,”

“No,” Stiles says suddenly, hand hesitating as it reaches out. “It’s…fine.”

 _It’s more than fine_ is what his tone says but Derek nods, ducking out of the loaded moment and the front door.

At the store Stiles is stiff, one hand perpetually on the side of the cart. Derek studiously ignores it, sinking into habit as he wanders the aisles. Eventually, Stiles speaks.

“You keep going back and forth. You know it’s easier to start at one end, right?”

Derek raises his eyebrows, a mock frown developing on his face.

“Who said I wanted this to be easy?”

Stiles snorts and shakes his head, muttering something about werewolves. He’s smiling a little, though, and his back isn’t ramrod straight.

Derek tries to make the trip short, aware that Stiles is probably pushing himself. He doesn’t miss the way Stiles tenses when people pass too close. He also doesn’t miss the fact that they’re all men.

“What kind of bullshit-,” Stiles exclaims, a little less loud than Derek remembers. He hangs himself into the cart, weight tipping it a little as he snatches a box from within.

“What?”

“Derek Hale, _why_ would you buy this? It’s cheaper to buy the other brand and the bigger size is less per ounce-,” Stiles gripes, shaking his head as he swaps them out.

Derek snorts.

“Yes, dear,” he prods, rolling his eyes.

The smile on Stiles’ face is soft even as he teases back, nagging at Derek good-naturedly.

It’s not the worst trip to the groceries Derek has ever had.

* * *

“All I wanted was a fucking drink,” Stiles repeats, again and again, anger and pain and disbelief swirling in his words.

“I know, I know,” Derek says, steering Stiles back to the house.

Just a trip to the post office. An errand and Stiles had come along, a bit more like his usual self than before. He’d walked down the street to get a drink from the gas station, hands in his pockets, eyes on his destination.

A man, probably looking to sell something, had grabbed Stiles by the crook of his arm.

He’d said “Hey,” had leaned a bit closer and Stiles had lost it.

He had pulled away, saying _get off,_ tugging his arm away, and the man, not aware, had held on, saying _please, listen, I just,_ and then Stiles had struggled and people had taken notice.

There had been desperation in Stiles’ voice that the man had ignored but Derek had heard it, would have heard it a mile away, and he’d left the post office without his two dollars’ worth of change, sprinting down the sidewalk to yank the man off.

They’re sitting in Derek’s car and Derek grips the steering wheel, letting go, doing it again, feeling useless as Stiles reassembles himself in the passenger seat.

“Can we go home?”

“Yeah,” Derek had said, heart still pounding, angry and betrayed and wanting to run the man over as he backs out of his spot.

He wants to yell, wants to tell the stranger _look what you did, he was fine, he’s getting better,_ wants to ask _why didn’t you just let go, why didn’t you let go, he was begging you,_ and the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth so he buries it deep in his mind with the other skeletons.

* * *

They’re watching a movie one night and Stiles is nodding off.

Derek thinks it was the errands. Stiles uses them as testing waters and Derek has noticed how he no longer flinches from others, instead watching closely, always a little tense but not so fearful anymore. They had picked up Chinese takeout, a rental from the box outside the store.

 _It’s a good movie,_ Stiles had said earnestly and Derek had shaken his head but picked it up anyways.

So here they are. Sitting on the couch, side by side because for some reason Derek has been an exception to the proximity rule for the past few weeks. It’s been a month and a half and the half had been Stiles letting Derek get close.

Derek watches the man in the movie take his helmet off and then he feels a soft bump on his shoulder. He opens his mouth to say _what is it_ and then he stops, voice dying because it’s Stiles head on his shoulder.

They have never been this close.

The thought cycles on repeat and Derek wills it to stop, wants it to go away but he can’t make it leave just like the head on his shoulder, soft hair brushing his neck.

Stiles breathes heavily and Derek can’t bring himself to move even after the movie ends, pulling a blanket over them as his eyes grow heavy.

* * *

“Do you want to come to work with me?”

 _Stupid, you’re stupid,_ Derek thinks immediately and he wants to take it back and erase the question but Stiles blinks, a grin growing on his face.

“Yeah,” he says and Derek fights a grin of his own.

* * *

“Hi,” Richard says, smiling.

“…hi,” Stiles finally manages, blinking rapidly.

Derek tries to ignore the twinge in his chest, locking it away for later. Richard _does_ look kind of like a model. He’s blonde, blue eyes the color of the sky and just as changeable. He’s the resident Vet and he works well with animals. He’s a bit clueless about people.

“So you’re Derek’s only friend,” Richard laughs.

Stiles laughs, too, and Derek’s glad he brought him.

The enclosure is busy when they arrive. Derek feels himself relax an inch, shoulders dropping. It feels _right_. He thinks maybe it’s an evolutionary connection, maybe something else. Instinct and similarity solidified in a bond.

Stiles gasps a little and Richard smiles, opening the doors so they can step through.

The Alpha female comes up to Derek and he sits on a tree stump, ducking his head a little so she can rub close, nudging his head with her muzzle. He can see a question in her eyes.

“Nyla,” Derek says lowly, one hand extended to Stiles.

“Nyla,” Stiles echoes, a grin stretching his face dangerously.

Derek watches, ready, when Nyla comes up to scent Stiles. Her eyes are wild, he knows. Intelligent. Stiles seems to respect her, though, and Derek is glad. When Nyla comes close Stiles ducks his head, gazing into her eyes. He doesn’t back down.

Nyla huffs through her nose, bumping his leg with it. Richard laughs and Stiles allows her close, watching as she huffs and parks herself right next to him, head resting on his leg. She even lets him run a hand across her head.

“…huh,” Derek manages.

He’s a little blown away.

“He’s even better than you are with wolves,” Richard chuckles.

“You have no idea,” Stiles murmurs, lips twitching in a smile as he lets Nyla lick his wrist.

When Richard lets the rest of the pack in, the pups swarm Stiles and Derek feels his heart melt a little at the sight.

* * *

Stiles is laughing and Derek laughs too, chasing him around the apartment complex with a handful of snow. His heart feels like it’s flying and he isn’t sure what to think of it.

Stiles ducks behind a tree.

“You can’t hide forever,” Derek yells, grinning. The snow is cold in his gloved hand.

Stiles sprints from cover and Derek throws, hitting Stiles in the leg. Stiles screams in mock horror, falling to the ground while clutching his leg. Derek runs up and when he stands there, right above Stiles, a hand yanks his legs out from under him.

Derek eats a face full of snow and he sneezes, coming up with water melting into his stubble.

Stiles has already jumped up, running away, when a woman pops her head out of her window.

“ _Just let him kiss you already!_ ” she screams and Stiles’ eyes almost pop out of his head as he covers his mouth, hands slapping against it comically.

Derek laughs even harder from the pile of snow he’s lying in and Stiles comes to help him up, stifling his laughter as they go back inside.

Derek doesn’t miss the red in Stiles’ cheeks.

* * *

 

They’re out with Richard and some poor girl who isn’t getting much of his attention. _He’s oblivious,_ Derek thinks, not for the first time.

Stiles is dancing more than anyone else and Derek is trying not to watch.

“You should go,” Richard half-yells over the music, leaning across the table as he talks to Derek. His head jerks in Stiles’ direction.

“I can’t dance,” Derek says as lowly as he can.

“I don’t think he’ll care!” the woman yells, sending a pointed look at Richard.

Derek is about to answer when he scents an acid rush of fear. He jumps out of his seat, immediately honing in on Stiles as he slips through the mass of dancing people.

He only sees the end of it, a man sinking to the floor as he clutches his crotch.

And Stiles is standing there, high cheekbones luminescent in the pulsing lights, gold eyes on fire as he holds his chin high.

Derek has never been more proud in his life.

Stiles meets his eyes and smiles, offering a hand.

Maybe Derek can’t dance, but it doesn’t stop him.

* * *

“I think I should tell you what happened,” Stiles says, tilting his head back to watch the ceiling.

Derek pauses, hesitating before he sets the pizza biscuits on the table.

 _Drunk us will thank sober us,_ Stiles had said before they’d left for the club. _And put water in the fridge. In plastic cups. We might break anything else._

They’re not entirely drunk. At least not too far gone.

“You don’t have to,” Derek says, picking up a biscuit.

“No,” Stiles agrees, frowning for a second. “but I think I should.”

They’re silent as they each eat a biscuit and then Stiles drinks some water, still a bit far away.

“I think mostly I was tired about people feeling guilty about it,” Stiles starts, wrinkling his nose. “You know? I mean, it was no one’s fault. Not really.”

Derek is half-drunk so he ignores the part of him saying _stop and listen_ in favor of getting another biscuit. Later he thanks drunk him because he knows being normal was the best thing he could have done for Stiles.

“I went to the Jungle. It’s fun. I like dancing and Lydia needed to get away, too. She left early with Parrish. I should have been fine.”

“No one was with you?” Derek asks, unable to help himself.

Stiles glances at him, eyes sad but sparkling with a little mischief.

“The bartender- Eric, that’s his name- he knows me. He always tries to watch out for me. A lot of the guys who work there are great.”

Stiles eats a biscuit and for a minute Derek thinks he’s done but then Stiles sighs, continues, a little soberer.

“I went outside at 1 a.m. I should have been fine. I wasn’t going to drive. Scott was picking me up. He had promised. He wasn’t there yet, though. I got outside and then- he came up to me.”

Derek tries to discreetly inch closer, offering support. He can tell where this may be going and his heart is already sinking to the floor.

“I don’t know who he was. All I know is that he grabbed my arm and then he said something and I said no, tried to get away, but he kept insisting. Pulling me. I yelled. I was loud. I don’t know why no one heard me- I don’t know. All I know is that he was pulling me into the alley and then I was fighting him and then Scott showed up.”

Derek swallows hard. He wants to ask but he doesn’t, respects Stiles too much to ask him to lay himself bare. Stiles pokes at the remaining biscuit, eyes tired. He is most definitely close to sober.

“Did he hurt you?”

It’s a stupid question because of course he did, of course the bastard hurt Stiles and it doesn’t matter how because Stiles woke up screaming his first night at Derek’s and he couldn’t go out for a month, could barely handle other people, much less Derek.

And maybe his expression says that because Stiles hesitates before nervously taking Derek’s hand, fingers thin like an artist’s.

“No. He tried. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it- I kept imagining what could have happened, kept replaying what _did_ happen. And Scott- Scott was guilty, Lydia was guilty, my dad…I had to leave. For a while.”

Derek nods and he looks at Stiles, questioning. Stiles sighs, nodding once.

Derek pulls him close, letting Stiles relax into his side. He doesn’t talk about how _right_ it feels. How much he wants to protect Stiles not because he needs protection ( _he kneed a stranger in a bar_ ) but because he loves him.

Derek blinks, thinks again, and is suddenly but not too suddenly aware of just what he feels.

“Thank you,” Stiles says and Derek wonders if that doesn’t mean something else.

“Any time,” he replies, knowing it means something else, too.

* * *

“I’m going for Christmas,” Stiles says quietly.

Derek pauses, legs crossed to hold a box of ornaments.

“…you should,” he manages, because it’s true. It’s also true that he wants Stiles _here._

Stiles nods a little, resigned.

“I hope it’s better,” Derek says softly, grabbing Stiles’ sleeve to make him pause as he hangs a silver bauble. “If it’s not…,”

Stiles smiles, soft, and he twists his arm to slip his hand into Derek’s. He squeezes it, slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go.

* * *

Derek wakes on Christmas and feels guilty for feeling alone.

He’s always been fine on his own. He could still handle it, really. He just doesn’t _want_ to.

He’s been spoiled.

He makes his tea with fumbling hands, trying not to think about Stiles handing it to him in the mornings, half-awake himself but wanting to get his homework done quickly. _Can’t be a dropout,_ he’d said with fierce eyes and Derek hadn’t fully understood until a week ago.

His tea is a bit strong, not like Stiles makes it, so he adds honey and then he smiles, remembering Stiles talking about the bees in the rosebushes on the ground floor, _they’re so cute Derek but what if they kill me?_

He pauses as he goes into the living room, planning to watch TV and sleep.

There’s a present on the couch.

He swallows a bit too hard but feels his smile grow anyways, sits next to the green box with dark gold ribbon. There’s a note written on a card. It doesn’t look store-bought. The front is a landscape, trees and snow and a sense of nostalgia.

            _Derek-_

_This isn’t a debt gift. I **am** grateful but I think you know that already. _

_I found this a while back. I went out, before I went to the groceries with you._

_It didn’t end well. That’s what the panic attack was about. It was worth it._

_Anyways, I’m not sure how it ended up here. I figured it didn’t belong with_

_anyone else, so. I bought it back, I guess._

_I hope I see you soon. If that’s okay with you._

_I’m going to stop writing before I say something stupid._

_Merry Christmas._

_\- Stiles_

The card is set on the table and Derek opens the gift slowly, hesitating before he lifts the lid.

It’s a leather bag.

It’s probably old, he thinks, vintage. It’s worn and soft, a dark brown that reminds him of the woods. When he turns it over, his heart stops and he sees two small inscriptions at the bottom center.

_C. Hale_

_Love, Talia_

He thinks his tea is ruined by his tears but he doesn’t care, smiling as he smooths a hand over the leather.

_Thank you._

* * *

 

Derek is about to go to sleep when he hears a knock at the door.

_Who is that?_

His heart stops when he looks through the peephole.

“Stiles?” he asks but before he can continue his question Stiles crowds him back into the apartment, cheeks red from the cold.

“I love you,” Stiles says, breathless, and Derek stares, mouth half open.

They stand there for a second and then Stiles pulls Derek’s shirt, tugging lightly, and Derek follows like a puppet, letting his eyelids drop as Stiles leans in.

When Stiles kisses him he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, pulling Stiles closer as his hands rest on the small of his back.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, thinks that it could be forever and he wouldn’t care, but it ends and when they move apart he knows his cheeks are red but he couldn’t care less.

“So I guess that’s a yes,” Stiles laughs, flushed.

“Yes, I love you,” Derek says quietly, smiling, and as Stiles squirms happily under his gaze he leans in for another kiss.

“Can I stay?” Stiles asks, moving away.

Derek feels his smile widen and he bumps Stiles’ forehead, watching Stiles’ honey eyes widen.

“You can stay forever.”

And Stiles blinks, laughs, and lets Derek kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I was feeling sad and sappy. Also I think Stiles just needs a damn break from Beacon Hills. I love the idea of Stiles and Derek and their interactions; I think Derek has grown quite a bit and he would be great for Stiles to stay with. I hope you enjoyed this.


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